Physical death is one of those things difficult for me to grasp. My thoughts on death formed around the age of 12. I remember them forming. The thought pattern on death is my own and does not appear incongruent with my faith, never has. But I do know it is incomplete. The finality of it isn’t strong.
Eli’s father overdosed. Eli is five.
I never met his father, David. As I have reflected on his death, I wonder if there was anything I could have done. The answer must be yes. What could that thing have been?
Death’s finality isn’t strong because I do not believe death is final. I can remember the idea forming oh so many years ago. I remember it so vividly. And now knowing that we are just sojourers, exiles in this world, the idea has only grown stronger. Except it should be different for those that are unbelievers, nay, it is different for them.
I had a conversation with a guy recently. Death scares him. I probed, attempting to find out this world view but he was hesitant to say anything. Even the alcohol did not open him up. There are many reasons why he is hesitant to talk to me but I did learn some things. He doesn’t really believe in anything. There was nothing. He was born, will live. Then he will die into nothing again.
It has taken a year to get this out of him.
So I contemplate death, not in a morbid way because my death is of little concern, consequence. But in understanding those that do not see death the same because they cannot. They have no hope. I must pray. Always pray…